Claiming a Life
by leaysaye
Summary: The Claimers didn't just claim Daryl's vest and his crossbow, they claimed Daryl. Rape/non-con, rickyl, slash
1. Chapter 1

He had found Rick, Michonne and Carl. Why did he not feel any relief? As he sat on the ground next to Rick that morning and told him about how he had ended up with those men he wanted to tell Rick the truth, but every time he tried to find the right words his mouth went dry and his mind blank.

How could he mention what they had done to him, how say the words to Rick? To his _brother_? Daryl felt sick to his stomach with shame whenever he thought of Rick calling him that. How he had said that all that mattered was that he was back with them, that he was not to blame for throwing his lot in with these people when he had been all alone.

Daryl knew this to be untrue. He was to blame, and if Rick ever found out what the men had done he would turn away from Daryl in disgust. As they walked on towards Terminus Daryl kept to himself.

He tried not to limp as they continued to clamber over the tracks. That bastard Len had kicked Daryl fiercely in the ribs and stamped on his knee and hip that first night when Daryl had still fought back with all his strength. He was sore all over but as long as he concentrated on where he was stepping and how he moved nobody had to know.

He half wished Rick had let Joe and his gang beat him to death, like they had promised. But Rick didn't know, would never know, that Daryl had wished it, and why. Daryl would just have to learn to live with it. Somehow.

 _A few days before_

Daryl sat on the road by the tracks, despondent and exhausted after chasing the people who had taken Beth, knowing he would probably never see her again. He didn't hear the man who jammed his rifle butt into his temple. Consumed with the misery about losing yet another person Daryl had paid no attention to his surroundings. He was aware for a split second of a sharp pain to the side of his head, and seemed to hear someone shout "Claimed!" before blackness took him.

When Daryl came to he couldn't see anything at first. He could feel cool concrete beneath him, and smell motor oil and sweat. As his senses slowly returned he could tell his hands were bound behind his back with handcuffs. He was lying on his front, and his head was throbbing fiercely. When he turned his head to the side the room tilted sickeningly. He persevered, blinking away the blood that had been clouding his vision.

Maneuvering himself onto his side took several minutes. When he had finally managed it he was breathing hard. He could now see that he was in some kind of garage or warehouse, and he could see five or six men busying themselves around several cars.

Next Daryl's view was blocked by a pair of jeans clad legs and battered boots. He squinted up at the man standing above him, the movement making his temple throb even more.

"Look who's up." Daryl couldn't make out the man's expression, but he could see a mane of straggly graying hair.

"Lemme go, y'bastard!" Daryl spat.

The man crouched down next to Daryl. He could see the other's face clearly now. His eyes were hard as steel. Daryl recognized what type of man this was. His brother had brought that kind into his life regularly whenever he came out of prison long enough to remember his little brother.

"Now, now, don't be rude. If you misbehave things will only get worse."

The older man was lightning fast. He gripped Daryl by the collar, pulled him to his feet and shoved him roughly in the direction of the other men. Daryl struggled, but it all happened so quickly. The man gave him a hard push and Daryl fell back to the floor. With his hands behind his back he couldn't catch his fall and landed hard on one shoulder. The impact made his ears ring.

"I know I claimed that little weasel, but anyone who wants to use him after me is welcome to him."

Daryl couldn't make any sense of the words, but he struggled harder as the man placed his foot squarely on his back, forcing him flat onto the floor. Daryl couldn't see much beyond several pairs of shoes. He fought against the heavy boot on his back, but the older man was surprisingly strong.

"Dan, Tony, hold him down." The pressure on Daryl's back vanished and was immediately replaced by two pairs of strong hands. Daryl couldn't see their faces from his vantage point, but could feel them dropping to their knees on either side of him. He was getting afraid now and redoubled his efforts to get free. One of the men cuffed him on the side of the head. "Hold still, weasel."

The next thing Daryl could hear was unmistakably the sound of a belt being loosened and a zipper opening. It dawned on him then what these men were planning for him. Daryl arched his back, fighting with all his strength against the two men. One of them grunted and shifted around. Daryl felt the weight on his right arm increase as the man dropped to the floor and leaned on him hard.

"Billy, Len, get his pants off." The man behind Daryl clearly was the one calling the shots, and Daryl could see two more pairs of feet step around him and out of view. His cuffed wrists were very sore now as he tried desperately to pull them free, to no avail. The arm pinned under the heavy man to his right was on fire but Daryl hardly felt it, his mind was consumed with the dread and horror these men had in store for him.

He tried to squirm away as he could feel more hands on him, but he was almost unable to move now. "Le' m' go!" Daryl's voice was pleading even as he tried to sound menacing. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

Daryl felt his pants being ripped down over his hips. The men didn't even bother undoing the buttons. His underpants followed a moment later. Daryl felt movement behind him, and panic rose like bile in his throat. There was a grunt, presumably from the older man as he went down on one knee. Daryl felt calloused hands on his bare hips and increased his attempts to squirm away. His heart beat frantically, he tried to buck away from under all the hands, but it was no use.

The man behind him grunted. "Len, get him to hold still," he ordered. The next thing Daryl felt was a searing pain in his left side as steel toed boots kicked him in the ribs and kidney several times. The air was forced out of his lungs, and Daryl ceased his struggles. There was no way he could get away and he knew it. He tried to brace himself for what he knew would come next.

His lower body was roughly pulled back and up by strong hands. When the older man forced himself inside him the pain was like nothing Daryl had ever known. He tried to remain quiet, to not give them the satisfaction of revealing how much it hurt, but he couldn't suppress a scream. Tears were running down his face; his body was no longer his to control.

It seemed to take forever. The man behind Daryl grunted as he slid in and out. The pain that had started out as sharp stabs dulled to a steady throb and the torture continue. Daryl could feel something warm run down the inside of his legs and he was sure it was blood.

The other men were almost silent. Every so often Daryl could hear the one half lying on top of him snigger or leer appreciatively. After the first scream Daryl managed to keep almost quiet, he just bit on his lower lip until he could taste blood.

Finally, the man behind him shuddered and moaned. Daryl could feel rough hands gripping his hips hard, pulling him back. Then another sharp pain as the man pulled out. Daryl collapsed as the man let go of his hips.

"All yours, boys," Daryl heard from behind him. There was a rustle of clothing as the man tucked himself away. He heard heavy steps, then saw the battered boots again which he knew belonged to his tormentor. Daryl didn't look up, but knew that the man was looking down at him.

"Name's Joe, by the way."


	2. Chapter 2

One of the other men crouched down next to Daryl then. Daryl could see that he was wearing the steel capped boots that had kicked him earlier. "If you enjoyed that, you little faggot, just wait for what comes next."

Daryl spat at the man's feet. "You got hard watchin' that, who's the faggot, eh?" The man crouching in front of him gripped his hair and yanked his head back hard.

"Watch your language, weasel. We can make your life miserable, you know."

Daryl knew he shouldn't provoke these men, but being powerless like this made the urge to lash out strong. Maybe, if he riled them enough they'd knock him out again and he wouldn't have to feel the shame, and the soreness in his body, for a while.

"You pussy jus' got a big mouth when the big boss says so, ha?"

The man let go of Daryl's hair and jumped up. He aimed a vicious kick at Daryl's temple and Daryl saw stars again. In the aftermath of the blow Daryl lost track of things for a few moments and when he was fully conscious again he could feel more kicks raining down on his side. The men who had been holding on to his arms had let go so Daryl tried to get away. He didn't get far before another heavy foot was placed between his shoulders.

The blows kept coming. Daryl felt some ribs break as the man continued to lay into him; he bit his lip until it bled to keep from screaming. He could feel the heavy boot stamping and kicking at his hip and leg, and an especially vicious stomp to the back of the knee made him groan.

"Len," he could hear another voice saying in a plaintive tone. "Don' break him right away, we haven't had any fun jus' yet." And with that the kicking stopped. He heard the voice of the one who had called him a faggot. Len. "Let's get him over there, then."

Several pairs of hands dragged Daryl across the floor to the closest wall. His pants were still pooled around his ankles and his legs scraped painfully over the rough concrete.

Over by the wall the men uncuffed his right wrist, forced him into a kneeling position and fastened the cuff to a pipe on the wall, just above Daryl's head where he was kneeling. Freed after a long time, the blood started circulating painfully in his arms again, but that was the least of his worries.

The one called Len came back into view. He was holding a gun, aiming it at Daryl's head.

"Open your mouth."

After what he had been through Daryl didn't think he could feel any more humiliated. He was kneeling on the hard, cold floor, half undressed, covered in blood, and now this. He contemplated briefly to refuse and make that man fight for it, but he knew it was no use. Whatever he did, these men would get from him what they wanted, and they wouldn't let up until they did. There was no fight left in his battered body. Daryl did as he was told.

Len gave his weapon to one of the other men and unbuttoned his pants. When he pulled himself out Daryl could see that he was already hard.

"No funny business," Len growled as he advanced towards Daryl. "If I feel teeth Billy here will shoot you in the leg and we'll leave you for the biters."

He tilted Daryl's head back roughly by the hair. "Just be a good little whore and we might let you live." He forced several fingers into Daryl's mouth, making him gag. "If you do it well, we might even keep you."

Daryl hardly heard the laughter of the other men. With their boss out of the picture they had become increasingly rowdy, but all Daryl could think about now was the man in front of him.

Len withdrew his fingers and instead forced his erection into Daryl's mouth. Daryl had to fight hard not to pull away. He had never shared Merle's revulsion at the thought of gay sex. Daryl had actually fantasized about being with another man plenty of times; in his life in the world before he just never had had the opportunity to do more than that. And now… but Daryl didn't want to think about Rick, not when this disgusting man was thrusting into his mouth harder and harder.

Daryl tried to tune out the grunts from above him, the sensation of choking, and the gasping for air on every thrust. He didn't try to fight now, or use his teeth. Daryl felt completely powerless, like a puppet whose strings are pulled every which way.

He wasn't prepared for Len when the man finally came. He gripped his hair harder and forced himself deep down Daryl's throat. Daryl desperately wanted to pull away, he didn't want to swallow this revolting man's jizz, but he had no choice. Daryl couldn't breathe, and the sensation of hot liquid running down the back of his throat combined with the pressure of Len's member made him heave.

Finally the man pulled out and Daryl collapsed onto his one free hand, drawing deep, shaky breaths. He could taste the bitterness of Len on the back of his tongue, and as much as he tried not to humiliate himself further he couldn't control himself. Daryl stomach turned over. The last time he'd had anything to eat had been with Beth the previous night so what came up was mostly bile, mixed in with spunk.

The memory of what had just happened made him feel even sicker, and it was a long time before he could stop retching. The men around him were jeering. One of them kicked him again hard in the side.

"I am not touching that one tonight, he's disgusting." Daryl couldn't see who had spoken behind him, but he heard a murmur of assent. The men moved away.

Daryl stayed on his knees a while longer, just concentrating on getting his breathing and his stomach back under control. Then he awkwardly sat down on the floor, as far away from the pool of sick as he could, and struggled to pull his pants back up. He had been right, there was blood on his thighs, mixed with Joe's cum, but as there was nothing he could do now to clean himself up he shakily undid the pants buttons with one hand and wriggled back into his clothes.

None of the men approached him for the rest of the evening, except Joe, who threw a bottle of water at him just before they all settled down for the night. He didn't speak, and hardly looked at Daryl.

The night was torture. Daryl couldn't lie down because of the way his wrist was cuffed to the wall. He kept shifting around, finding one position more taxing on his battered body than the last. In the dark he also couldn't keep his thoughts from returning to the events of the day. Daryl felt nothing but hatred for his tormentors, but blamed himself almost more. Why had he not fought harder? He felt pathetic, and disgusted with himself, and the wish to just die became stronger and stronger as the night wore on.

 _Morning_

The next day was mostly a blur, which was a mercy. They came for him again first thing in the morning, and this time Daryl couldn't help but beg them to stop, he was hurting so bad. The guy behind him took no notice, just rammed into him harder and harder. Daryl was sickened by his own sobs but could do nothing to suppress them.

When the group was ready to leave they cuffed his hands together behind his back again and marched him out of the building, which Daryl now realized was right next to the tracks he had come across the previous day. Daryl felt dizzy with exhaustion, and stumbled along the tracks in a stupor. Len kept his rifle trained on him from behind, warning him occasionally not to try to get away.

"I am not kidding. If you try anything the end will be awful."

Daryl didn't try to run. Right then and there he had no desire to save himself. And in any case, he wouldn't leave while Len and Jo were still alive. He had to find a way to kill them.

While they were walking Daryl overheard Joe talking about a man he was seeking who apparently had killed one of their number a few days ago. Joe said he was going to find the bastard and rip him to pieces.

When they stopped around midday Len got into a fight with Joe. Daryl didn't pay any attention until the other men started advancing on the pair. At a command from Joe they all rounded on Len, kicking and hitting him until he no longer moved. Joe himself then stabbed him through the eye.

Daryl just watched, his only emotion regret for not getting to kill Len himself.

They traveled late into the evening. When they pitched camp next to the tracks Joe stepped over to Daryl. "Suck me off like you mean it, and I will take off your cuffs."

Daryl nodded. He didn't much care anymore what happened, and at least he'd get the use of his arms back. Joe didn't last long, and while Daryl made no great effort to give him a good time he seemed to enjoy it. This time Daryl swallowed without complaint and didn't puke it all up again.

Joe kept his word. He motioned to one of the men as soon as he'd tucked himself away, and Daryl savored the release of his arms. He didn't look at any of the other men, just curled up right where he was and turned his back on them.

He was exhausted and weak from days without food or much water and a sleepless night, so he actually fell asleep quickly. His dreams were disturbed by unseen threats and awful feelings. He woke with a start when it was still dark.

None of the other men stirred. One of them sat slumped over his weapon, clearly having fallen asleep on his watch. Daryl knew he had to try and get away. He briefly contemplated attacking his tormentors, but he had no weapon and in his state, against several opponents, he couldn't guarantee that he would be able to wrest one from any of them in time. Joe might be asleep but Daryl was sure that the smallest commotion would wake him to full alertness in a second.

So Daryl crept away silently. His years of hunting had taught him how to move without making any noise. He was between the trees within minutes. There he stopped, and contemplated his options. He could get away easily now, but he wanted to pay this lot back for what they had done to him.

They had come across a stream earlier in the evening so Daryl crept that way now. When he reached it he crouched down carefully. His ribs on the left hurt a lot, and his head was throbbing. He knew there were other injuries too, he could feel them every time he moved. He pushed that thought away hard. There was no time to deal with this now. Maybe there never would be.

He drank deeply, and washed away the blood and grime from his face. Then he returned to the tracks to find a good vantage point on the group. He had a feeling that Joe wouldn't encourage his men to go looking for him. Daryl was sure that if he had really wanted for him not to run away Joe would have kept him chained up. He seemed to have gotten whatever release he wanted from his abominable acts and was now focused on his next quarry, the man who had killed one of their group.

Daryl settled in to wait, watching the group wake up and get ready to move again. When they did, Daryl followed.


	3. Chapter 3

He had followed the gang all day. Around sunset he had noticed them talking excitedly. The cover of the trees was too far away from the tracks to overhear what they were saying, but they pressed on despite the gathering darkness, so Daryl kept on their tail.

Finally the men had stopped to confer, and Daryl had been able to sneak closer. He made out Joe's voice whispering. "It's them, and they are just round the next bend. Let's take them!"

Daryl had stayed under cover and followed the group as they moved onto the road. Soon, there was an altercation and Daryl heard new voices answering Joe. He froze when he recognized one of them. Rick! For a moment Daryl was torn. Only two days ago he would have given anything to be back with his people, but now… Rick would know, would see it in his face.

But Joe had talked about murdering the man who had killed one of theirs. And if that man was Rick… Daryl had to help.

He stepped out of the cover of the trees and approached the scene.

 _Present_

Daryl was getting tired. They had been walking for hours towards Terminus, and while they were getting closer it would still be several hours before they reached their goal. After the vicious fight with Joe and his group he and Rick had stayed up, watching for walkers and too wired to sleep.

He was glad that Joe was dead; that bastard had deserved to die the way he did. But Daryl still wished it could have been him in Rick's place. He had meant it when he'd offered himself to Joe in exchange for Rick. But, Daryl thought with disgust, he probably wouldn't have had the guts to do what Rick did. He'd shown plenty of times that he couldn't look after himself, or anybody else.

Another sleepless night together with his injuries meant that Daryl felt close to his limit now and would have liked nothing better than to curl up somewhere and rest. But he couldn't explain to Rick the extent of his injuries without revealing what had happened so he didn't say anything.

He wished he could change his clothes, at least. They smelled of Len and Joe and, to Daryl, of sex. He wasn't sure whether anyone else would pick up on that but it made him uneasy. Rick was giving him strange looks as they were walking. Daryl wondered whether his limp had become noticeable.

Rick finally fell back and walked next to Daryl. He looked at him with concern. "Are you all right, man?" Daryl waved him away. "Assholes got me harder back by them cars than I thought." Rick made a noise as if he was unconvinced.

"What went down with these guys, Daryl?"

Daryl swallowed. Should he tell Rick here and now, and get it over with? No, he decided, they had enough to deal with already. And Daryl couldn't bear to see the disgust on his friend's face he knew a confession would elicit. He'd just have to bury that memory and get on with it, and as long as they had a goal to work towards that would be all right.

"Nothing, Rick. They were jus' bad, y'know."

Rick didn't say anything to that, and Daryl was glad when Carl fell back to walk with his dad after a few minutes. Daryl slowed down and let the other two draw ahead a few feet and just concentrated on not stumbling too often on the tracks. He tried not to think about what lay behind but cast his mind ahead, wondering what they would find at Terminus. Maybe some of their group had actually made it there already.

 _After_

They made it out, all of them. Daryl hadn't thought they would. He was convinced they'd had it, they'd be the next dinner for Gareth and his crazy lot. And yet, he thought as he lay on the outskirts of their camp that night, maybe that wouldn't have been so bad. At least the nightmares would be over then.

At twilight they had pitched their camp at the side of the road and had shared their meagre rations by a small fire. Rick had taken one look at Daryl when they had stopped for the day and told him to lie down as soon as possible.

"You look awful, man. There's enough of us to share watch, you need a full night's shut eye. No," he'd forestalled Daryl's protest. "I mean it. Get some food into you, and then sleep! We can't have you keeling over with exhaustion, and you look like you're about to."

So Daryl had complied. He'd actually been glad to have an excuse not to linger around the fire. He was still convinced that the others would figure out what had happened to him, or smell the other men on him. He'd stretched out on the bare ground, one of their packs as a pillow, and despite the horrors of the day he'd fallen asleep.

But he hadn't stayed that way. Waking with a barely suppressed scream on his lips, heart hammering in his chest he'd sat up, convinced the attackers from his dream were among them in the clearing.

The fire had burned down to embers and the night was quiet and chill. It took a few minutes for his breathing to return to normal and for the blood to stop rushing noisily in his ears. Daryl could make out Carol lying very close by, close enough for them to share some body heat.

They used to do this all the time, especially during the first winter when they'd been on the road for all those endless months, but now it gave Daryl an uncomfortable feeling. He didn't want to touch, or be touched by, anyone, not even Carol. He was glad to have her back with them, but he'd been unable to look her in the eye all day. When she had turned up outside Terminus his first impulse had been to run to her and gather her up in his arms, but he had recoiled from the thought and instead retreated a ways beyond the group.

Daryl could make out Abraham standing sentry a little way away. He would have liked to get up and walk off some of the tension he still felt, but didn't want to answer any questions, even innocent ones. So he merely scooted away from Carol a couple of feet and lay back down.

The darkness was pressing in on him, reminding him of being trapped in that train car at Terminus. He could smell the stale air again, all their bodies trapped in there. He had thought he'd go stir crazy.

And then he was back in that slaughterhouse, on his knees, certain they were all going to die. Death had not been what he had feared then and there, but having his hands and feet bound together had caused such panic he'd not been able to think straight. The whole episode at Terminus had been like a blur after that. He'd fought on auto pilot, supported Rick when needed but he'd hardly known what he was doing.

Daryl did not sleep again. He got up as soon as the first light appeared and told Abraham he'd try for some squirrels. "Just stick close," Abe had cautioned. When he could no longer see the camp Daryl sat down by a tree. He looked up at the leaves above him, trying to find some of the calm he used to feel in the woods, and failing.

He knew he couldn't stay. He had to get away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Beth_

Daryl held it together, for the sake of the others, but barely. When he and Carol spotted the car with the white cross and chased the Grady Memorial survivors back to Atlanta he was glad for the distraction. For a while all that mattered was to rescue Beth, and Carol.

They got Carol back, but not Beth. That was the darkest day Daryl could remember since the world had turned. Being with Beth after the prison had been a strange experience, but Daryl knew she had changed him for the better. She had been his light when all there was around him was darkness. Losing her not once, but twice had threatened to undo everything that ray of sunshine had done for him.

And it threatened to undo the remove from what he had suffered at the gang's hands that Daryl had managed to achieve by keeping busy.

After, they had been on the road for two weeks, traveling to Virginia to Noah's community, Shirewilt. Noah had described his home to them and Rick had decided it was worth a shot to investigate, despite the distance.

So they had set off, first on foot, then in vehicles whenever they could find any. Everyone was grieving, everyone was numb, so Daryl hoped nobody noticed how he felt increasingly withdrawn from the group. And nobody seemed to, except Rick, who kept glancing over and seemed on the verge of addressing Daryl several times a day. So Daryl had avoided him as best he could.

Rick, Glenn, Michonne and Tyreese had formed the vanguard to check out the situation in Shirewilt. They had come back a few hours ago, with a dead Tyreese. After that, there was nothing but despair in the group, and in Daryl.

After Tyreese's funeral Daryl had gone off on his own again, sitting just within eyesight of the others so nobody would worry and run off looking for him. He couldn't bear the thought of anybody else getting into danger because of him.

Daryl blamed himself for Tyreese's death. He should have gone with Rick, but he had been afraid Rick would try to talk to him if they got a minute alone. Still, Daryl should have made sure they were safe. That was more important. Tyreese had been far from helpless but he hadn't been a killer. He did well protecting Judith, and that's what he should have stuck to. Daryl's only use to the group was now to keep them safe. If he couldn't even do that, then they would be better off without him.

 _After Tyreese_

Daryl sighed and leaned back against the tree he was half hiding behind. He closed his eyes, which were burning with tiredness. His sleeping had not improved, he still had bad dreams every night. That was the reason why he volunteered to keep watch whenever he thought he could get away with it without Rick getting suspicious.

A twig snapped close to Daryl and he was on his feet, knife drawn, before he knew what he was doing. Spinning around he realized it was Carol, bringing him something to eat. She looked briefly startled, then concerned, but only held out the plate to him.

"You didn't come to join us for dinner, so I thought I better bring you something. You wouldn't eat at all otherwise."

Daryl hesitated to take the plate. He knew they were running very low on food now and he would have preferred for the others to share his portion. He hadn't felt hungry since Terminus.

Carol seemed to read his mind. "Eat, Daryl. You'll need your strength, I have a feeling things will get tough soon." He took the plate.

She looked at him more closely. "Are you all right? We haven't really talked in ages."

Daryl shrugged. "Gotta be," he mumbled. He didn't want Carol to be concerned. He didn't deserve her attention.

He wanted her to leave him be, willed her to just accept he couldn't talk. They had been close, before... But that made it even harder to have her around him now, when he was so sure they could all see how worthless he was.

Carol and he had shared a connection based on their past, and Daryl knew that she had been attracted to him. He hadn't been able to tell her then that he wasn't interested in her that way, or in any woman, and he couldn't tell her what had happened to him back before Terminus. He had disappointed another person.

He didn't want to see Carol miserable, or worried about him, and it made him feel wretched to add to a friend's unhappiness. Just like everyone else, Carol would be better off with him gone.

She finally seemed to accept that he wouldn't open up and gave a small sigh. "Just come and join us when you're ready, ok?" With that she smiled at him a little sadly and turned to go back to the fire.

Daryl sat back down and contemplated the plate of stew Carol had brought him. He didn't feel remotely like eating, but letting it go to waste would be a crime, so he picked up the fork. It was clear to him that this couldn't go on. Something had to be done.

When Daryl had finished his food he put down the plate and stood up. His crossbow was leaning next to him against the tree, and he picked it up. Nobody noticed him leave the camp.

 _Rick_

They still had two functioning cars, even though the one that had gone to Shirewilt was now running low on fuel. Daryl passed the cars and headed back up the road a little way, where they had seen several abandoned cars in the morning.

When he got to the spot he looked for the car in the best shape. He knew that if he wanted to get far enough away to be out of reach before the others noticed he'd gone he would need a car. None of these ones might work out, but he had to at least try.

The first car was a no go. All the tires were flat and the fuel gage was on zero. The second one had some fuel left, so he decided to look at the battery. He released the hood and had just moved to the front of the car when he heard footsteps. He didn't turn around. He knew these footsteps.

It was Rick.

The footsteps stopped, and Daryl could tell Rick was still a good ten yards away. He stopped, too, with his hands on the hood of the car. The silence between them stretched on. Unsurprisingly, it was Rick who finally broke it.

"I know I can't make you stay with us if you don't want to. But I wish I knew why."

Daryl closed his eyes. He willed himself not to react to Rick, not to hear the hurt in his voice. Not to feel the things he felt for the man. It was no use.

Daryl turned around. He looked at Rick, and he tried to put into that look all the things he couldn't say.

"Please… Rick, I can't."

Rick closed the distance between them slowly. Daryl slumped against the car, staring at his feet. He couldn't hide any more, couldn't stay away any more. If he didn't leave the group he knew he would not be able to keep his silence. And they would despise him. Rick would despise him. Or pity him, and lose all respect.

But he knew Rick wouldn't just let him go. So he resigned himself to whatever might happen next.

Rick stopped in front of Daryl, but he didn't look at him, and he didn't come too close. He looked instead into the distance, where the sun was slowly turning the sky a brilliant pink.

"It was the men you were with, before Terminus." It was hardly a question, and Rick was still looking away. Daryl nodded, then, not sure Rick had seen it, added very quietly, "Yeah."

Rick glanced at him for the most fleeting moment. Otherwise, he stayed very still. Daryl continued to look at the ground, but kept Rick in view out of the corner of one eye.

"They did something awful to you." Again not a question, and Rick didn't require an answer. "I can't even begin to understand how you must be feeling. But I am glad now that I killed that man the way I did. I just wish there was more…" Rick's voice cracked. He tried again. "More I could do."

Rick didn't sound revolted, Daryl realized. He had not turned away. His voice sounded sad, and angry, but not with him. Daryl chanced a glance at the other man. He now turned to look at him, held Daryl's gaze.

"This is not on you, Daryl. You didn't do anything wrong. It is not your fault. There were six of them, nobody could have gotten away from that many."

Daryl had a sudden vision of the moment Joe had forced himself on him. He could feel the hands on his hips again, the other men holding him down… Daryl rubbed his eyes, willing the memories to fade, and his heart to stop racing.

Rick took a step closer, and Daryl half flinched. Rick noticed and stopped. Daryl forced himself to look back at Rick. He looked so sad.

"This is a brutal world now. Maybe it always was. The things that happen to us are not because we're weak. They happen because people are making the wrong choices. And it's not always up to us to make the right ones for them. All we can do is survive." Rick took a deep breath, and Daryl realized that there were tears in his eyes.

"You survived, Daryl. You came back to us. Back to me. I am grateful every day that you did. And if you left, these men would win. They would take something away from me that is irreplaceable."

He moved again as if to touch Daryl, but stopped himself. But suddenly Daryl wanted to feel Rick's hand. He wanted to know that what he was hearing wasn't just words, but really what Rick felt.

Daryl pushed away from the car. He took one step towards Rick, so they were less than an arms-length apart.

"D'you mean it? For me t'stay?" Daryl held Rick's gaze, and Rick didn't look away either. When Rick spoke his voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes, man, I do."

Daryl looked back at the ground, steeling himself for the next bit. "Don' make me talk about it. To no one." He looked up. "Please."

"Not if you don't want to." Rick sounded relieved. He stretched out his hand again, and this time Daryl didn't flinch away. He let Rick's hand come to rest on his shoulder, and let Rick cover the remaining inches between them.

Rick placed his other hand behind Daryl's head. He brought their heads together and placed his own forehead against Daryl's.

Daryl let his eyes fall closed again. He took a deep breath, and then another. His heart was not hammering now, he didn't feel like he had to get away any more. For the first time in weeks he felt like he was safe.


End file.
